


All of Me Wants All of You

by menel



Category: Olympus Has Fallen (Movies)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Now that Ben is safely aboard Air Force One and headed home, he remembers Mike’s words distinctly. “We’ll continue that conversation later, sir,” his head of security had said.





	All of Me Wants All of You

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I wrote a fic called "Executive Order". This is its belated sequel because these two idiots need more love, and adding to this tiny fandom is a good way to start 2019. Amirite? :)
> 
> The title is from Sufjan Stevens's song of the same name from the album _Carrie & Lowell_.

Ben wanted to sleep. He _knows_ he should sleep, the adrenaline that his body had been feeding on for the better part of the worst day of his life, was finally ebbing away. Now Ben was relying on artificial stimulants like caffeine, maybe a tumbler of whiskey, to make it back home. There was too much to do, so much that his mind could barely comprehend the monumental shifts in power now taking place across most of the world. Now that Ben was finally _safe_ , he doesn’t know where to begin even as his gaze landed on the Top Secret folder on top of his desk with details of the drone strike on Amir Barkawi. It was a just a preliminary report, but Ben knew the salient points. He’d had a brief chat with Trumbull as soon as Air Force One was in the air. He knows those missiles didn’t miss this time.

If Ben were being honest with himself, a large part of why he couldn’t seem to focus had to do with his Agent-in-Charge, Mike Banning. Seeing as Mike had essentially _saved his life_ while London had been under siege, such an admission wouldn’t be damning at all. 

Except… 

Except the words that kept flitting through Ben’s mind were, “We’ll continue that conversation later, sir.” 

Once again (on the surface, at least), there was nothing recriminating in Mike’s statement. It was professional. Authoritative. It was everything Ben knew Mike to be and what made Mike so good at his job. 

Except… 

Except when he thought about the _context_ of those words and the breathless kiss that had preceded them, well… it was painfully obvious why Ben couldn’t concentrate.

Ben couldn’t stop wondering when ‘later’ would be. Was it too soon for ‘later’? Did he have to make time for ‘later’? _Should_ he make time for ‘later’? Or would Mike do all the hard work and find ‘later’ for them? Worse, would Mike change his mind and decide that there shouldn’t be a ‘later’? What did ‘later’ even _mean_? 

There was a knock on his office door. “Come in!” Ben called. He didn’t know if Fate was torturing him or fulfilling his wishes when Mike entered, a stack of folders tucked under one arm. Ben stood up automatically like a puppet on strings, even though there was no reason for him to. Mike looked apologetic. 

“Sorry, sir,” he began. “I know you don’t want to be disturbed.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ben assured him. _You’re always the exception to the rule_ , he thought, but wisely didn’t say aloud. Mike was making him feel like an awkward teenager all over again. He took a deep breath walked sedately around his desk to meet the other man.

Mike, on the other hand, was his typical confident self, striding across the office with purposeful steps. He stopped in front of Ben and held out the stack of folders. Ben arched a questioning brow at the offensive paperwork. 

“Courier service,” Mike explained matter-of-factly. “None of your advisors are brave enough to step foot in here, but I figured you might go easy on me.” 

Mike’s good humor broke the slight tension in the room and Ben flashed him a genuine smile, relaxing as he accepted the folders and then casually dumped the pile on the desk behind him. Mike arched a questioning brow of his own to which Ben replied, “I’ll look at them later.” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping over Mike’s face speculatively before making up his mind. 

“Drink?” he offered. 

“Please,” Mike replied. 

Ben went to the side table and poured them some brandy. He came back and handed one of the glasses to Mike, before motioning to the sofas arranged in front of his desk. Mike turned around and surveyed the set-up. For a brief moment, Ben felt a flare of panic that he quickly quashed. It suddenly seemed vitally important where Mike chose to sit, as if that would somehow dictate the direction of their conversation. If Mike chose to sit opposite him, formality would rule the day. But if they were seated side by side… 

Ben exhaled (he wasn’t even aware that he’d been holding his breath) as Mike chose the sofa nearest to them, moving down its length so that Ben had room to join him. Ben gladly accepted the unspoken invitation. 

The silence between them was…expectant. Not tense. Well, there was some nervous tension on Ben’s part, but it was the good kind. The butterflies-in-your-stomach-because-you-hope-something-amazing-might-happen kind. He discreetly eyed his head of security as he drank his brandy. Mike was as cool and unflappable as ever, and the thought made Ben smile over the rim of his glass. When Mike put his glass down on the coffee table in front of them, Ben was reminded of the other man’s penetrating green gaze. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t wilt under that look, even as he felt some of his resolve crumbling.

“So,” he said, hating the flutter that he heard in his own voice. 

“So,” Mike repeated. His gaze dropped to the glass of brandy balanced on Ben’s knee. 

When Mike didn’t say anything else, Ben coughed. “Are we…?” he trailed off. 

In answer to Ben’s unfinished question, Mike leaned over and took the glass out of Ben’s hand, placing it beside his glass on the coffee table. Then he sat closer to Ben, close enough that his left arm rested along the sofa’s back, and Ben was neatly trapped in a half embrace. Idly, Ben was reminded of the old stretch-and-yawn trick teenagers would pull in darkened movie theaters to get closer to their dates, only Mike’s move was a hundred times smoother and far more direct. They were close enough to kiss and without consciously doing so, Ben tipped his face upward. A flicker of a smirk played at the corner of Mike’s mouth before he closed the distance between them. This time when their lips slotted together, Ben was prepared. He still let Mike take the lead and didn’t care that he was shamelessly moaning into the other man’s mouth. Mike didn’t seem to mind either as Ben pressed closer to him, one hand curling around the back of Mike’s neck, as though he were afraid that Mike would pull away. 

Mike didn’t pull away, but he did eventually end the kiss, one of his hands also cradling Ben’s neck as his thumb stroked the soft skin of Ben’s throat. 

The unexpected tenderness was such a stark contrast to the violence of the day that Ben felt a well of emotion almost escape him. He loved this man, and he knew with absolute clarity that _this_ was what he wanted. Now, if only Mike wanted the same thing…

When Mike leaned in again, Ben gently resisted. The only surprise Mike showed was a slight quirk of his lips on his otherwise stoic features. Ben was thankful that Mike wasn’t offended, judging by the thumb that continued to stroke his neck. He cleared his throat. 

“Ah,” he began, rather inarticulately. “I thought we were going to talk. Not that I’m not enjoying this,” he quickly added. “But you did say we would continue that ‘conversation’ later.” 

Mike looked amused now and he sat back, releasing Ben so that his hand once more rested on the couch. Ben silently cursed the reaction. That’s _not_ what he had been hoping for. 

“I suppose we would have to talk about it eventually,” Mike agreed. “But I meant continuing that conversation later to be more of a metaphor… _sir_.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The idea of his precise, rational Agent-in-Charge speaking in metaphors was mind-boggling enough, but to hear Mike say the word ‘sir’ in that tone of voice made the blood rush to face. It’s not that he’d never heard Mike call him ‘sir’ before; Mike called him ‘sir’ all the time. It was protocol. But that formal address took on a different meaning in this context. Mike was taunting Ben with his rank, and Ben was immediately turned on. _I’m a sub_ , he thought faintly, another idea that had never crossed his mind before, certainly not when he’d been with Maggie. But he remembered how easily he’d submitted to Mike in the service tunnel in London (he’d thought it was adrenaline and surprise at the time) and how quickly he’d allowed Mike to take the lead now. He _wanted_ to submit to Mike.

Ben met Mike’s even gaze. He realized that Mike was waiting for him to make the next move, to determine the course of their interaction and he wondered how to play it. He exhaled, releasing the tension thrumming through his body. Mike took this to be some sort of sign since he shifted, sitting back against the sofa and reaching for his brandy again. Ben felt a small wave of disappointment wash through him. Looks like they were going to have that talk after all. 

Mike took a deep drink, placing the glass back on the coffee table before he glanced at Ben again. “What did you want to talk about, sir?” he asked. 

There was no trace of the former teasing in Mike’s tone, of the charged sexual tension that had threatened to drown them only moments before. It was just Mike being his professional self, and Ben silently marveled at the other mans’ shift in persona. He didn’t know if his next words were a reaction to that but he blurted out, “I think I’m in love with you.” 

No reaction. No quirk of an eyebrow, no smirk at the corner of the other man’s lips. Just that steady green gaze. Assessing. 

“That’s very direct, sir,” Mike stated after a moment. 

Ben thought he might go mad with all the ‘sirs’ and their different shades of meaning. He ran a hand through his hair, curbing the urge to reach for his brandy. “It is what it is,” he agreed with a weak smile. His fingers drummed nervously on his knee until Mike’s hand covered his own, his thumb running over Ben’s knuckles. It was a soothing action. It didn’t surprise Ben in the least that Mike would be tactile with his affection. Mike’s actions always spoke louder than his words. 

“This isn’t some sudden, spur of the moment thing,” Ben went on after what felt like a long silence. “I mean, it’s not a reaction to today’s events, even if those events were…traumatic.” He shuddered, pushing aside the sounds of explosions and gunfire, the terror and the smell of death. He felt Mike’s fingers curl around his and Ben instinctively returned the other man’s grip. “I’ve felt this way for a while. A long while,” he added. “Maybe even when Maggie was still alive. It was like this tiny kernel buried inside of me.” He looked at Mike earnestly. “But it was never the right time,” he explained. “Even _now_ is not the right time, but you know what today taught me? There’s never going to be a ‘right’ time, and we’ve lost so much time already. So, I’m just laying this out there and seeing where it goes.”

Ben stopped, trying to curb his anxiety at such a monumental confession. He wished Mike would react, would do something, would _say_ something, _anything_. When Mike finally spoke, what he said threw Ben off guard. 

“When you step down.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“The right time,” Mike clarified, “would be when you step down from office.”

It took Ben far too long to understand what Mike meant. His brain was sending him too many conflicting signals. The first was, _Well, yes. Obviously, Mike was right. The best time to start anything would be when he was safely out of the spotlight. And Mike too. When they were no longer in the White House, everything would be easier._ But this thought was quickly followed by, _No, no. He had just been re-elected. He had to serve out another term. Mike couldn’t possibly expect him to wait that long. That would be…untenable!_ And the last thought that came crashing into that was, _Hang on. Mike said, ‘the right time.’ Did that mean Mike agreed with him? That he returned Ben’s feelings?_ Ben felt a spark of hope. 

“Wait,” he said, when his brain and mouth were functioning again. “Does that mean…?” 

Mike sighed with equal amounts of exasperation and fondness. “You can be such a dumbass,” he said. 

Ben bristled with mock offense. “I really don’t think you can call the President of the United States a ‘dumbass,’” he informed Mike. “At least, not to his face.” 

“I think when we’re alone like this, you’re not being the President of the United States anymore,” Mike pointed out. “And that means I can probably call you whatever I want.” 

Ben broke into a grin, unable to maintain his mock anger. “Yeah, you’re totally right,” he agreed, before launching himself at the other man. 

Mike seemed to anticipate Ben’s actions well enough, allowing Ben to climb into his lap and push him back into the sofa. Mike’s arm curled around Ben’s waist as support, and then they were kissing again. Deep, long kisses that made Ben’s heart ache. 

“The door,” he suddenly remembered, reluctantly breaking off their make out session. 

“Locked,” Mike answered, trailing a line of kisses along Ben’s jaw. 

“Presumptuous,” Ben replied, amused. 

“Prepared,” Mike countered. 

Ben huffed out a small laugh before he found himself flat on his back along the sofa. It was moments like these when he remembered how strong Mike actually was, how it wouldn’t take much for the other man to subdue him, all their boxing be damned. The thought of being subdued by Mike was turning him on, and those flames were further fanned when he felt the solid weight of Mike’s body on top of him. That felt _good_.

He leaned forward, catching Mike in another kiss. The other man obliged. Jackets were somehow shed, and then Mike’s fingers were loosening Ben’s tie while Ben was fumbling with the buttons on Mike’s shirt. Ben was arching into Mike, whether to feel more of that hard body against him or to pull Mike closer to him, he wasn’t sure. It was all the same, Ben thought, when he’d finally unbuttoned Mike’s shirt and his hands found warm flesh. Mike didn’t shed his shirt and seeing his proper Agent-in-Charge disheveled was even sexier than Ben could’ve imagined. 

“Hand or mouth, sir?” Mike asked in between kisses, even as his right hand was slipping off Ben’s belt and then working on Ben’s zipper. 

“It is so fucking hot when you call me ‘sir,’” Ben murmured, eyes closed.

“Duly noted,” Mike answered. Ben could hear the amusement in the other man’s tone. “But that doesn’t really answer the question, _sir_.” 

Ben opened his eyes, his face inches from Mike’s. “Hand,” he said, without hesitation. There would be time to try other things, _do_ other things…later. For now, he wanted to see Mike, to look at him, to kiss him, to swallow his moan when the other man came. 

Mike nodded briefly, sitting back a little so that he could undo his own pants and push his briefs down since Ben hadn’t thought to get that far. Ben shimmied out of his pants as well, dropping them and his briefs onto the floor. Mike’s pants, briefs and tie joined Ben’s a moment later, and then Ben was reaching for the other man again.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to use,” Mike said, spitting into his palm before taking Ben in hand. The saliva eased some of the dryness, but Ben understood Mike’s point. 

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I didn’t think we’d actually get this far.” 

“You and me, both,” Mike agreed. He eased his grip. 

“Don’t stop,” Ben immediately said. 

“No, sir,” Mike assured him. “I wasn’t planning to.” 

Mike shifted. Ben breathed out a small ‘oh’ in response, feeling the slide of Mike’s cock against his own. Mike had them both in hand now and Ben could feel the slickness from leaking pre-cum. It wasn’t oil or lube, but spit and cum would have to do. With mild alarm, Ben realized that he wasn’t going to last long this way. It had been too long since anyone had touched him (since Maggie?), since he’d even touched himself. (And when he did, it was always Mike in thoughts, Mike doing things to him that weren’t becoming of the President of the United States.) 

“Will you come for me, sir?” 

“ _Jesus_ , Mike,” Ben choked, arching up into the other man’s hand, into the glorious friction and pressure found there. He clutched Mike’s shoulders desperately, hips falling into a stuttering rhythm.

“You should see yourself like this, Ben.” 

Mike’s voice was a low whisper in Ben’s ear, the gravelly sound traveling straight to his cock. He could feel his balls tightening and drawing up, feel the sparks skittering along his spine. He buried his face into Mike’s neck, sucked on the other man’s throat, fingers digging into Mike’s shoulders. His voice was muffled when he spoke. 

“What’s that, sir?” Mike asked calmly, the nonchalant bastard. 

“Make me come!” Ben cried out. 

Two more strokes and a twist and Ben was spilling into Mike’s hand, body convulsing as his vision went white. _Stars_ , Ben thought dimly when he came to himself. Mike had made him see actual _stars_. From a handjob. 

Ben slumped back into the sofa, boneless and content. When he focused on Mike again, he saw the satisfied half smirk on the other man’s face that he wanted to kiss right off. Mike had propped his head on his hand to get a good look at Ben, his body now angled sideways, one leg still draped over Ben’s. He was still idly stroking himself with his other hand. 

“You haven’t…” Ben said, surprised. 

“Needed to take care of you first,” Mike teased. 

“I can…” Ben offered. But when he tried to sit up, Mike gently pushed him back down. 

“I can wait,” Mike told him. 

_For what?_ Ben wondered, but didn’t say aloud. 

“You got a spare shirt in this office?” Mike asked. 

“In a cabinet somewhere,” Ben replied, still a little dazed. 

“Good. You’ll probably want to change.” 

“You’re taking this really well.” 

Mike arched a brow. “And how was I supposed to take it?” 

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “A little less…calmly? Coherently, maybe?” 

Mike’s warm laugh rolled over Ben like molasses making Ben wanted to melt into the couch even more, but Mike had pushed himself into a sitting position, reaching over Ben to look for his discarded pants and briefs on the floor. Ben eventually pushed himself into a sitting position as well, leaning against the sofa’s armrest as he watched Mike dress. Mike was putting one leg and then the other into his pants; standing so he could pull up the zipper and thread his belt through the belt loops. He had somehow managed to calm his raging hard on. He eyed Ben thoughtfully as he buttoned his shirt.

“Should I get you that spare shirt, sir?” he asked. 

“It’s all right, Mike. I can do it,” Ben replied. 

Mike nodded and tucked in his own shirt. He was about to reach for his tie, but Ben beat him to it, passing the tie to Mike. Ben continued to watch as Mike did his necktie easily with quick, precise strokes. Everything about Mike was quick and precise. _Military precision_ , Ben’s mind helpfully supplied. A few moments later, Mike was completely dressed, his Secret Service suit like a coat of armor. There was nothing about Mike’s appearance that would lead anyone to suspect what had just transpired in Ben’s office. Ben sort of envied him for that. He was still lounging on the sofa, half naked and probably looking debauched. He reached for one of the sofa cushions and put it over his lap as a modicum of modesty. Mike looked amused, but then he was crouching beside Ben, one hand on Ben’s arm. 

“We really do need to have a proper talk about this,” Mike began seriously. “But it can wait until we get back to D.C. and things have settled a bit. But the answer is ‘yes.’”

At Ben’s confused expression, Mike’s smile softened and the hand on Ben’s arm drifted upward, his thumb tracing Ben’s lower lip. 

“I want this too.” 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _Olympus Has Fallen_ and _London Has Fallen_ belong to their individual creators and Millennium Films. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
